Brave New World
by Radioactive
Summary: How would the outside world accept someone like Homestar Runner? When Strong Bad’s house burns down, Homestar doesn’t have a clue how to prepare to find out. Don't give up hope, I've just been busy lately.
1. Prologue

Obligitory Author's Notes: I have been criticized about this in the past, but I'm afraid that Homestar's speech impediment will not be manifested visually in this story (when he says an "r" I will not replace it with a "w"). As some guy on a chat room said on the subject of using R instead of W when writing Homestar, you might as well spell everything else phonetically, too. So…r's. No w's.

* * *

On June 24th, 2002, in some town called Free Country, USA, a diode blew in a computer called Tandy 400, causing the computer to spontaneously explode. The resulting computer left its owner with third-degree burns and about $70 worth of damage to the house. 

Tandy Corp. was quick to respond, giving the family a check for two thousand dollars, to avoid certain "legal complications". The family accepted the check and agreed to forgo a lawsuit (this entire exchange was done over the phone, with no one actually leaving, or coming to, Free Country, USA). All records of the computer's explosion were wiped clean from existance. Including the records of Tandy Corp. ever having dealings in any town called Free Country, USA.

But one thing that the owner of the computer did not know was that the computer's explosion had caused a huge surge of electricity to course through the wires leading off of it. But the explosion had caused such a lapse in the electrical circulation in the house that all power was off for about 10 seconds. The electricity from the computer's explosion, having just reached the fuse box in the basement, was quickly stopped by the loss of power and therefore stuck in the circuit breakers, perfectly still.

This meant that there was now about 10,000 volts of electricity wired into the house's electrical grid, liable to activate at any second.

* * *

**October 9th, 2006**

"Okay…almost set here…perfect!"

Strong Bad hopped down from the stool and admired his work. What he had done was manage to position a hairdryer in his bathroom so it was perfectly aiming at the head of a toy soldier (the hairdryer had been positioned with clay molded around its base).

Strong Bad and The Cheat eagerly high-fived and left the bathroom, keeping in mind to return in five hours to see the hairdryer's progress.

About six hours later (Strong Bad and The Cheat had fallen asleep), the toy soldier finally caught fire. It quickly fell over, forward. The wind from the soldier's fall blew the flame forward, just far enough to touch the clay holding the hairdryer in place. The clay was highly flammable, and it quickly ignited. The flaming clay slowly began to envelop the plastic base of the hairdryer, and after a few minutes, the clay metled and the flaming hairdryer fell out of place and landed on the ground. By a pure stroke of bad luck, Strong Bad kept the planks of wood he used to lock Strong Sad in the bathtub on Decemberween right next to the bathtub (or, in this case, right where the flaming hairdryer had landed.

The ten planks of wood burst into flames, completley covering the hairdryer, as well as the wire leading to the outlet. Once the flame hit the outlet, it exploded in a shower of flame that covered the whole room.

Now is the time where it should be noted that the explosion of electricity in the bathroom outlet was what caused all that spare electricity in the fuel box to be blown out of the circuit board and shoot out through the house, blowing up all unplugged outlets, and blowing up anything plugged into the outlets.

The entire house was now a huge torrent of flame.

Strong Bad, The Cheat, Strong Sad and Strong Mad had all woken up now, and the all hurried to the closest window and dived out.

The Strongs' house burned to the ground that night, and everything in it was destroyed.

But this is not that story.

All I will say about the rest of this story is that the fire had attracted firefighters from a nearby, albeit larger, town close by. The firefighters were unable to file any of the tons of paperwork needed for this, seeing as there were tons, that is all, of political records (or indeed any kind of records at all) missing about Free Country, USA.

* * *

**October 11th, 2006**

About fifty government workers (or maybe it was less, just over and over again; they all looked the same) arrived in the town two days later, along with several dozen police officers, constantly radioing each other. They searched the town, scribbling down notes, writing in clipboards, making tons of phone calls, driving back and forth from whatever town they came from, as well as spending a lot of time questioning the King of Town about his authority. This was coupled by about 20 firefighters and three or four electricians exploring the Strongs' house, looking for the source of the fire.

As the investigation furthered, more and more government workers came into town to investigate (even to the point that Strong Bad had to hide The Cheat to stop the outsiders from asking more questions, if that was possible). They were so confused. How could a town be founded without any political records? How could it exist for so long without the government knowing about it? How could all of the products belonging to the citizens of the town be shipped to Free Country without there being records of where they were going? How could all these television shows be broadcast in Free Country without the knowledge of the FCC? How could all these buildings be constructed without outside influence? Hadn't any of these citizens left the town before? Could a town really exist that no one knew about?

No one at all really knew. They had just always lived there. Everything had always been there. The houses, the stores, the restaurants, even the big town hall where Strong Bad filmed the office scenes for his Dangeresque movies, had just always been there for as long as anyone could remember. Even Bubs couldn't recall the origin of his concession stand, having always assumed he had bought it from someone. All their possesions were either inherited or given as gifts. Everything else, their parents had bought for them before they were born (almost no one could remember their parents anymore). Sometimes a DVD of a TV show or a movie would be produced, and the citizens would just order it online. Where did everything else come from? None of them really knew. They had never thought about it.

None of it made sense. A town cannot exist without knowledge of those around it! It's impossible on so many levels! But Free Country, USA, defied that.

What was even more impossible-seeming was the fact that none of the townsfolk of the surrounding towns or cities, or even a single person involved with the media, had learned about Free Country's existence. The only outside people who knew about Free Country, USA were the government agents, police officers and firemen that had come to investigate. That was all.

* * *

Eventually they told the citizens they were going to have to relocate them all to a hotel for…well, they said could be anywhere for three months to three years. In fact, they said that the citizens would probably have to move out of Free Country for good. But the agents said they'd set up a reservation in first-class suites in compensation for all the inconvienance. 

But Homestar's letter had got lost in the mail, and he had missed the meeting at town hall. Marzipan's attempt to tell Homestar what had happened was less than effective.

It was at night that she finally found him, when the sky had fallen dark.

"Homestar, haven't you packed?" she asked.

"Packed?" said Homestar. "Why would I pack?"

"Don't you remember what those officials said at the meeting?"

"There was a meeting? Why was I not informed?"

"You didn't hear the news?"

"Didn't I hear the news?"

"What does that mean?"

"Aw, I got nothing."

"Huh?"

"I was seeing how long we could answer questions with questions. You win, though. I know how to pick my battleships."

"Really, Homesar. Don't you remember the news?"

"News? Oh, no ways, man."

"Well, those agents said that the whole town has to relocate to a hotel they've set up for us."

"Relocate? I heard that word once in a spy movie! This is not good!"

"What?"

"The government's trying to hide us! That means the feds have found us! This does not look good!"

"Homestar, what have you done that would make the feds want to come after you?"

"I don't know, but they know things no one else does! Conspiracies, and stuff like that!"

"The government can't be hiding you from the feds. The 'feds' _are_ the government. Why would the government hide you from itself?"

"Oh, crap! This is getting worse! The government is fighting against themselves, and I'm torn in the middle of this terrible turf war of corruption!"

"What are you talking about? What war?"

"I don't know, but there's some high-level stuff goin' on here, and I'm not gonna get tangled up in this web of conspiracy! I don't want to end up with my memory wiped! I'm getting' outta here!"

A caffiene-crazed Homestar took off out of the house and ran down the street as fast as he could before Marzipan could stop him. He kept running until around the time when he was crossing the overpass bridge leading out of Free Country, USA. The overpass lead directly over the River Prance, a huge waterway that led down a slope around Free Country, that's rushing rapids was always a sight for tourists. Not that any tourists had ever come to Free Country, since no one knew about it. But if they did, the rapids would be a sight to behold.

The roar of the small but numerous waterfalls below was interrupted by the klaxon of a loud horn behind Homestar. He turned around quickly.

In front of him was one of the vans that the government agents were drving. But in the glare of the headlights against the darkness of night his eyes had adjusted too, Homestar couldn't see the van, or in fact anything else for a few seconds. He dived to his side as quick as he could, hoping to miss the van.

He launched himself over the guard rail and tumbled through the air towards the rushing, jagged-rock filled rapids below.


	2. Enter Kurt

Author's Notes: My responses to the questions in your review, Annony, are as follows. I'll try to put him in; yes, of course I know what they are; yes, it is a reference to the book.

* * *

The fire team barely had time to assemble. By the time someone had called them up saying there was a fire just outside of town, the house was already half burned down. They hadn't noticed that they had been driving through farmland for two and a half minutes when they got into this second town, Free Country. They were in a hurry and weren't thinking straight, so they just all assumed that their town was longer than they thought. 

When they got to the burning house, the foundation of all the walls was already about to collapse. Before they could enter the house, they had to douse the flames around the walls, which were unfortunately all made of wood, so the flames had spread pretty quickly.

"Don't spray so quickly!" shouted one of the firemen over the blare of the sirens and the roar of the flames, as some others began pulling the hose out from the truck and aiming it towards the house. "We could knock down a whole wall with that force, and we can't risk bringing the whole house down!"

Some firemen, maybe including the one who had shouted a moment before, began adjusting the hose to its lightest setting. The water shot out of the hose. It was too late—the house was already too weak. The wall gave out like it was made of paper.

Some more people ran to another truck. Another hose was pulled up to the house. Before it was turned on, one of the firemen holding the first hose let go to stop the second group from spraying, knowing it could damage the house more. He dived forward to push the hose away from the house. The first group wasn't strong enough to hold the hose with just two people, and quickly lost aim. The running fireman turned around to see what the first group's hose was spraying now. The second group turned on their hose. It was set too strong. The spray of the first group's hose kept shooting forward, through the huge hole in the wall and through the second wall, destroying it in the process.

The second hose's stream hit the bed in the room they had knocked down the walls of. The mattress was lifted up in the stream, and it crashed through a third wall along with the second hose's stream. The mattress careened across the backyard and through a group of bushes that seemed to line the entire edge of the town. Behind the bushes, the land declined, and led down to the path that was always curving around the town, the River Prance.

The mattress floated through the surprisingly quick river all the way around Free Country for about an hour, finally coming to a stop when it got jammed on a large rock jutting out of the ground just a few yards to the left of the Highway 44 overpass.

* * *

Homestar had fallen just a few yards to the right of the Highway 44 overpass. He crashed down into the torrent of water, right in front of one of the steeper mini-waterfalls. He had already passed out on the way down from fear. He probably would've drowned, or at least died, when he hit the jagged rocks just behind the waterfall, if not for the fact that he landed head-first, and the fact that when his cap was installed with all those hydraulics he had showed off to Strong Bad one day while he was on his computer, the interior had been coated with a thick layer of metal. So when his head landed on the jagged rocks, the metal coating of his hat protected him from injury. He toppled to his side and began floating under the overpass and towards the waterfall. 

Just as he reached the edge, he began to fall down the waterfall, on his back, head-first. So, as he fell down the waterfall, his head went down and his feet went up. And when his feet went up, the kicked the bottom of a mattress that had was stuck on a large rock to the side of the waterfall. The mattress, pushed by Homestar's foot, slid off the rock, back into the current, and down the waterfall with Homestar.

As Homestar fell down the waterfall and landed at the bottom, he was pushed underwater. But he was too light, so he rose to the surface right away. The mattress fell down the waterfall just after him, went underwater, and rose to the surface, directly under Homestar. Homestar began floating along the river, lying on the mattress. After a minute or too, the riverbed got flatter and the rapids died down. But Homestar continued floating on the mattress.

Homestar floated for a long, long time.

* * *

He floated after the trees and bushes of the Free Country area gave way for long fields. He floated after the fields turned to crop fields and farms. The farms turned to cottages. The cottages turned to houses. The houses turned to tiny groups of buildings in the woods such as hardware and garden stores. Around the stores and the houses were factories and airplane hangers and storage lots, like those found on the outskirts of town. The stores turned to some villages. The villages turned to towns. The buildings began to grow taller and greater in numbers, though mostly just houses and schools. After the River Prance (by now, it was called the Eaton River, and this was the name is was given on all the maps) passed an airport, the buildings began to grow. Motels and clubs and restaurants began springing up. Hotels and malls, then apartment buildings and office buildings…the size of the buildings grew and grew. More crowded. More populated. The noise of traffic grew. The air grew crowded with smoke from cars, and all the radio waves from satellite dishes and cell phones. A huge metropolis had sprung up. 

The Eaton River finally stopped in a kind of tube-shaped reservoir, made out of an ugly colour of beige bricks. The wall ending the tube was about forty yards away from the beginning. The ceiling was lined with little bar-shaped fluorescent lights every 10 feet.

When the mattress reached the wall at the end of the tube, Homestar's head bumped into it and he woke up.

"What the...?" he murmured. "Is it Christmas already?"

He opened his eyes and bolted upright.

"Bwaaah!" he shouted. "Oh no! I'm stuck in a…! Wait a second—where exactly am I? Brickland? No, it can't be Brickland. Not enough outlet malls. Okay, let's assess the sit-she-ation. Retrace your steps, Homestar. What do I remember doing last? Well, I remember some big glowy lights…oh, no, maybe it was a giant snake come to eat me whole, and now I'm dead! I'll check."

He leaned over the side of the mattress and looked at his reflection in the water.

"Crap! A reflection! I'm not dead!" he said. "There goes that theory. Well, I might as well get out of this tunnel."

* * *

Homestar pushed his leg through the water one more time. The mattress floated forward a bit. It floated out from under the shadow and into the light, where the water got all bright and yellow-green. After about 10 minutes, he was finally out of the tunnel. 

On either side of him were two walls, sloped diagonally away from him. At the top of the walls were long chain-link fences. The second thing Homestar noticed was that wherever he was, it was the middle of the night. He could only distinguish his surroundings from the dim light cast over the water by tall street lamps that lined the street.

Homestar jumped from the mattress onto one of the walls, walked up to the fence, and climbed over. He surveyed his surroundings for a minute. This is what he saw:

He found himself on a very long, dark street that led way off into the distance. The street was lined with apartment buildings and some warehouses, as well as a multi-story parkade or two. There were many small streets that snaked in between the buildings, forming lots and lots of blocks. A thin traffic light hung over his head on a very empty intersection. The few cars that passed him were dark-coloured and dusty, and moved slowly and awkwardly. Some people walked by him every now and then, wearing thick jackets and with toques and scarves around their head. They didn't stop to look at him; they just walked right past him, usually pushing past him kind of painfully. The buildings around him were grimy and faded, and the windows were dirty and often cracked. Everything around him was very dark and cold.

Homestar didn't like where he was.

He looked over across the street in the direction of a small recently abandoned coffee shop, and saw there was a street sign next to it.

"Ooh! A road marker," said Homestar. "Maybe this'll help me id-net-nify my surroundings."

He crossed the street to get a better look. Next to a speed limit sign with all sorts of messy, squiggly writing drawn in marker all over it, was a thin white metal sign with black letters reading AVE C.

Homestar gave a Roman Salute and said, "Ave, C!"

He turned around and noticed someone was going down the sidewalk, but he wasn't like the other people in jackets and scarves. He was a man with messy hair and a rough unshaven face. Even though his hair was grey, he still looked pretty young. He wore a black trilby on his head and a thin and cheap-looking suit hung over his shoulders, too many buttons missing to actually put on. One his hands were black leather gloves with the fingertips cut off. In one of these gloved hands was a dark green garbage bag filled with what looked like cans. In the other hand was a glass bottle in a paper bag. The man just seemed to be wandering down the sidewalk, scanning the ground with his eyes.

Homestar walked over to him.

"What're ye looking for, man?" he asked.

The man glanced up at him.

"What?"

"You're looking around the ground and all. Are you looking for something?"

"Leave me alone, unless you got any change."

"Fraid not."

"Well, then what are you doing here? The only things around here but cheap studio apartments, muggers, and people like me."

"Who're people like you?"

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"No-sir-ee!"

"Thought so. How'd you get here?"

"I can't remember. I just woke up a few minutes ago in that tunnel over there."

Homestar turned around and pointed across the street to the reservoir.

"Really..." remarked the man. "So, you don't remember how you got here?"

"Nope."

"Do know where you came from?"

"Nuh-uh."

"And you don't have any money?"

"No way man."

"Can you remember ever not being here?"

Homestar thought very hard.

"Not that I remember."

"Well...then, maybe you belong here."

"Where is here, anyway?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure...some big city, that's all I know. The only cars that I know are from this city are cop cars and taxis. And usually those have New York license plates, but sometimes I see California plates. And I'm positive I saw an Illinois plate once."

"Right on, right on."

"If you don't have anywhere to go, are you going to stay here? In a situation like yours, that's probably the best thing to do."

"Well, if it's in a situation like mine."

"If you're from around here or not, you don't seem like you are, so I'll show you around."

"Good," said Homestar. "Cause this place really gives me the creepie-jeepies."

"Yeah, it'll do that," said the man. "These types of places…well, we call it a _sletto_, because that sounds better than _ghum_. You should stick with me, it's a dangerous place."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me sir. I don't have any money and I don't have a home. No one could possibly be under me. Call me Kurt."

"Hi, Kurt!" said Homestar. "My name's Homestar."

"Home staugh?"

"H-o-m-e-s-t-a-r," said Homestar, sounding it out.

"Home…?"

"Star. Like in the sky."

"Star?"

"Yeah, like that."

"Your name is Homestar?"

"Yeah! Isn't it great?"

"It's...it's unique, I can tell you that."

"Yunnow, Kurt, for a homeless guy, you're pretty smart," said Homestar.

"Well...my life used to be a lot better than it is now," said Kurt. "My intelligence is the only thing left over."

"Whoa," said Homestar. "That's deep."

"Homestar, I want to show you something you'll need to know to survive around here," said Kurt, and then he turned around.

"Look up at that sign," Kurt continued. He pointed to the street sign Homestar had been looking at a minute ago. The one that said AVE C.

"See all that black stuff scribbled over it?" said Kurt. Homestar could now see there was black ink scribbled all over the sign from the 'C' on.

"That's ink from graffiti artists," explained Kurt. "A while back, some vandals noticed that four avenues next to each other running north from Youngstown (that's the street we're on right now), each of their street names started with the first four letters of the alphabet, in the right order. Like, the first avenue's name started with an A, and the second avenue started with a B, and the third started with a C, and the fourth started with a D. No one around here can remember what the street's actual names were anymore without checking a map. Anyway, they thought it'd be funny if they scribbled out all the letters after the first letter on the four avenue's street signs. That's why the square area running horizontally from there—"

Kurt pointed to the street sign a block over marked 'Ave D'.

"—to there—"

Kurt pointed to the street sign, barely visible, two blocks over marked 'Ave A'.

"—and running vertically from Youngstown about 20 blocks that way—"

Kurt pointed down Ave C, off into the distance.

"—is famous. Because of it's four streets in alphabetic order. Well, that, among other things..." Kurt added as he glanced over at a suspicious looking man walk by wearing a trench coat, not wanting to expose this kid to unnecessarily adult themes.

"Really?" said Homestar in interest.

"Yeah!" said Kurt with a smile, and then he leaned back against the wall of the apartment building next to him.

Homestar looked around once more, at the derelict apartment buildings, the graffiti'd walls and signs, the bums, the muggers, the alphabetic street signs, the complete feeling of uneasiness.

"Welcome, Homestar," said Kurt, "to Alphabet City."


	3. Some stuff with the others

**Author's Notes**: Firstly, a respone to two of my reviews.

1) Yeah, I understand what you mean. But the correct word is 'dystopic.'

2) Flash animating? Oh, man, I would trade whatever magical writing ability people seem to think I have a million times for Flash 6 alone.

Secondly, I've had a bit of trouble in the past. If you guys could tell me if you ever find any spelling errors or anything in this or any future chapters and you alert me of this, that'd be great. I sometimes have a bunch of spelling errors in my Homestar stories because if I have the spellcheck on, it picks up, like, every second word I say, like "Homestar's," "Strong Bad's/Sad's/Mad's," "The Cheat's," "Marzipan's," "Homsar's," "Pom Pom's," the "King of Town's", et cetera.

Thirdly. Right...I forgot about this. Let's do it in alphabetical order!

(checks Homestar Runner Wiki Category:People)

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:**

I'm not Chad, Craig, Don, Donnie, someone from the FAF, Harriet, someone from Harmless Junk Inc., Jackie, Jesse, either of the Johns, Jonathan, Josh, Mark, Marty, either of the Matts, someone from Mellow Mushroom, Mike, Missy, Nick, either of the Pauls, Randy, either of the Ryans, Storm, or indeed anyone at all to do with Homestar Runner. I do, however, know Joey Day to an extent. That guy needs a new photographer.

* * *

Free Country, USA was snowy in the winter, especially around Decemberween (the agents were still trying to figure out why they called Christmas 'Decemberween'). Free Country, USA had traps for catching crabs, the ones that lived down by the wharfs in the ocean. Free Country, USA was located in southern Massachusetts near the shores. By now in our story, all of its citizens had been ushered out by the government people. Or at least most of the citizens had. It can be said, at least, that every citizen had vacated the town some way, leaving it deserted, and eerily empty, nothing left but footprints in the grass of the field. No, not footprints—tire tracks, from the government's vans. 

Free Country the cold; Free Country the remote; Free Country the almost totally unheard of.

The few people who made it almost unheard of (residents aside) were a small group of serious-looking government agents. They hovered around the Free Countrymen (if that's the right word) like helicopters, listening to their discussions; waiting for one of them to mention something they remember something from their childhood, maybe something about Free Country's past, maybe even its creation. Waiting for one of them to mention someone they remember telling them what to do. An authority figure. A ruler. Someone who might have been part of the rest of the country.

They were always skulking around the hotel. In the bars, in the restaurants, in the gift shop, in the pool rooms, fitness rooms, near the ice and drink machines, in the bathrooms, through the hallways, in the lobby, outside around the front doors and parking lot. Even though there were only five or six of them, it was hard to think that there weren't more, because they all looked the same, and because they were ubiquitous. They were always there, even before you got there. Maybe even before you decided to go there. It seemed kind of likely that if you were trying to decide whether to go to the pool or the bar, there was an agent running back and forth from both rooms, starting to turn around every time the thought of going to one of the rooms overrode your thought to go to the other room.

They were so omnipresent that even in the times when they were alone, it would feel like that strange man across the room would suddenly have their face stretch out like slime and morph into an agent in an eerily familiar way.

* * *

The hotel's bar was called the Red Flamingo. There was a red neon sign made to look like a flamingo near the door into the bar. 

The bar, the actual counter, was smooth and made out of a nice reflective silver metal. Behind the bar were trays of glasses; boxes of straws; napkin dispensers; various green and red bottles on display behind the bar, presumably imported or something; a large bag of nachos; a small basket of pretzel packets; a stack of some coffee boxes. There was a vase of flowers to brighten up the place. The curtains were drawn, but there was a sort of lit-up square of white plastic behind the curtains, to make it seem like it was light out, no matter what time of day. A poster next to the bar on the wall had one word on it, _Kenglevich_, and its border was various drawings of fruit, and this was all that was on the poster. One was left with a distinct feeling of confusion.

Strong Bad and The Cheat sat on the red imitation vinyl stools. The Cheat spent most of his time exploring the fun of quickly swiveling around on a swivel barstool. Strong Bad spent most of his time calling to the bartender, trying to get his attention. When he finally got it, the bartender turned to face the two of them and said, "Gaaah! What is that thing?"

Strong Bad turned to The Cheat. "Oh, that's just my cat," lied Strong Bad. "He's dressed up as Sashi, from the popular japanimé franchise Anuyisha. There's a convention in town."

"That's a costume?" remarked the bartender. "That's a cat, in a costume? Man, it looks like an actual animal."

"Well, those are the breaks," said Strong Bad. "Any chance of me getting a drink in this drinking...place?"

"Sure, if you're old enough. You got identification?"

"What?"

"ID."

"Hm?"

"Driver's license? Stuff like that?"

"Oh, right. I have my license here..."

Strong Bad fiddled around in his pockets, then produced a license that was not that of a driver, but was licensed all the same.

It looked like this:

VERY OFFICIAL

IDENTIFICATION CARD

STRONG V. BAD

Wrestling bloke

FREE COUNTRY USA

"I don't look snap's dad!"  
-Strong Bad

CLASS: B

"What is this?" said the bartender.

"It's my license."

"What kind of license?"

"Um...one to practice licensious behavior?"

"I can't accept this, this isn't anything, uh, real."

"Well, I always show it at the border, and they—wait. No. I've never been to any borders."

"How old are you, kid?"

"22."

"Prove it."

* * *

Just then, an agent was walking by the neon sign of the red bird. He was wearing the standard agent uniform—black suit, white shirt, black tie, white...eyes. He noticed Strong Bad exchanging some kind of ID card with the Red Flamingo's bartender. 

"Identification!" thought the agent. "That's got to be from some kind of government!"

The agent strode up to the bar and said in a very official voice, "Is there a problem here?"

"No, sir, just this guy's trying to give me a fake ID," said the bartender.

"Fake ID?" said the agent. "I'll have to confiscate this."

"Hey!" shouted Strong Bad as the agent snatched his license.

"What the heck is this?" said the agent. "Very Official? This isn't even anything!"

"What is you talking about?" said Strong Bad. "That's my license!"

"Where'd you get it?" asked the agent. "Who from? Anyone of the people we brought to the hotel?"

"No, I found it on the ground," muttered Strong Bad over-sarcastically. He turned back to the bartender and said in a defeated tone, "Just give me a dang old non-alcoholic Dr Dew."

The bartender slid over a bottle of green soda to Strong Bad, presumably Dr Dew.

"That'll be three dollars," said the bartender.

"Um...I'm a little light," said Strong Bad. "Can ya let me slide?"

"No free rides, pal," said the bartender.

"I'll just pay for it later."

"I said, no free rides," repeated the bartender with narrowed eyes. Strong Bad now noticed how big this guy was.

Then he said, "Barkeeps of your physical build can usually get away with intimidating customers who don't want to pay, but it's kinda hard to take serious the tender of a bar called the _Red Flamingo_."

"You're just making things worse," said the bartender.

Strong Bad swiveled around to the agent.

"Hey, suit-case," said Strong Bad. "Can ya lend a pal three big ones? I mean...four?"

"You know I can't do that, civilian. You can, however, lend me as many dollars as you want, to get a jump on tax season."

"Tacks season?" said Strong Bad. "What's that?"

"You have a lot to learn about life in the United States," said the agent.

"Um...hey," said Strong Bad suddenly in a persuasive voice. "If you lend me five bucks, I'll tell you where I went to school."

"Authority figures! Government funding!" said the agent excitedly. "Sure, sure, here's six dollars!"

The agent quickly stuffed some bills into Strong Bad's outstretched glove. Strong Bad (deciding not to correct the agent on his accidental additional buck) tossed the money onto the bar and, with a large swig-like motion, downed his bottle of Dr Dew. He then added, "Keep the extra three bucks, just take it off my tab next time I'm here. I'll have real ID by then. Come on, The Cheat, let's cheese this beverage dispensitarium."

He reached out and grabbed hold of The Cheat's still-spinning stool. The stool stopped spinning, The Cheat went flying into a window a few feet away. He bounced off the carpeted ground and walked over to Strong Bad, who had recently hopped off his own stool.

As the two guys began to walk out, the agent walked with them, saying, "Hey, you have to tell me where you went to school!"

"Well, the deal was, I'd tell you where I went to school if you gave me _five_ bucks. You gave me six. So, no deal. But thanks for the extra money, by the way. Hope it doesn't interfere with those tacks of yours."

The Cheat kicked the agent in the shin. Strong Bad and The Cheat walked down the hall and disappeared down a corner, and the agent was in too much pain to follow them.

* * *

"..._and that's why come that guy who said Shakespeare was awesome was wrong."_

"_Pete! What're you doing here?"_

"_Oh_..._Eddie_..._I heard you were sick."_

"_Yeah, and I got better! So what're doing on my show?"_

"_Er_..._"_

"_Is that my tie you're wearing?"_

"_Um_..._looks like we're out of time here_..._this is Eddie, signing off."_

_"What? You're Pete! I'm Eddie! Wait—you were pretending to be me again, weren't you?"_

"_Gotta go!"_

"_Hey, come back here!"_

The sound of a nervous documentary host running away from another documentary host and then crashing into the camera that had been filming them was immediately followed by the loud, terrible sound of static. This sound was followed by a kind of jingle that plays during _Technical difficulties_ graphics. This jingle was followed by the sound of a TV being turned off.

Marzipan, Coach Z, Bubs and the King of Town were in the lobby.

The lobby was a long room. On one half was the front desk, the rarely-used mailbox, and a luggage trolley. One the left side of the room was a door leading away into the first floor hallways. On the right side was the front door in front of the parking lot. There was a big red armchair resting against the wall across from the desk.

The wall wasn't full, though—it stretched from the floor to the ceiling, but not from wall to wall. There were two large gaps on either sides of the wall. These gaps led into the second half of the room.

The second half was kind of an eating area. There were some tables and chairs, and on one side, against the wall, was this buffet, where you could get peanut butter, jam, blueberry jam, milk, orange juice, plastic forks, plastic knives, napkins, paper plates, and three types of cereal. No bread, though.

On the other side of the room was a window overlooking the sidewalk around the front door, as well as a spectacularly unspectacular parking lot. There was a TV embedded in the side of the thin wall that was facing the eating area.

As I said, sitting in the chairs around the TV were Marzy, Bubsy Kingy, and...uh...Coachy. Marzipan had the remote, and she had just switched off the TV off.

"You switched off the TV," said Coach Z in a low voice, almost a whisper. "Can you do that?"

"Well, the guy with the nametag behind the desk said you could when I asked the guy with the nametag behind the desk," said Bubs.

"But, there _is_ a sign right there saying you can't, yo," said the King, accidentally pronouncing _yo_ as _yaw_. To the best of someone who has no arms' ability, the King pointed to a sign next to the TV.

_No touching the remote!_  
_-the Ones in Charge_

"Why do they always leave it unclear if you can change use the remote?" asked Marzipan.

"I'll go and orsk him," said Coach Z, beginning to stand up.

"Seriously, man, two years ago," explained Bubs.

"Yeah, I guess yer right," admitted Coach Z. He walked over past the TV wall and up to the front desk.

"Hey," said Coach Z, "um, uh...Cory," he said, after checking the guy with the nametag's eponymous nametag.

"Yes, hello?" said Cory.

"Er...um..." said Coach Z. "I was just...uh..."

But this was the problem. Coach Z had no idea what to say, or how to say it. He knew the answer to his question would be either yes or no. And since it was such a trivial question, like if you can use a remote on the TV, the answer must be simple to figure out. Coach Z got that feeling as strange embarrassment one always gets when one is going to ask a question that is actually very hard, but to the one being asked who knows the answer, seems very simple.

Cory glared back at Coach Z. The nametag guy's expression was a smile, and he seemed friendly and ready to help. But Cory was paid to look like this. You had no idea what he was thinking in his mind. You could never tell how condescending and un-approving this guy was. What would he think if Coach Z asked about the remote? What's he thinking now that Coach Z isn't asking about the remote? The minimum-wage undergrad glared back at him with cold, uncaring, terrifying eyes—disgusted eyes. What could possibly lurk in the impenetrable fortress of the inner workings of this psychological torturer called Cory?

The pressure was too much.

Coach Z screamed like a little girl.

He turned around and ran away so uncontrollably fast, he ran into the wall across from the front desk, crashed through the paper-thin plaster, broke through an uncomfortable cluster of plastic and wires, and finally crashed through a plate of glass. His head was stuck in the TV facing the others.

"Hey, check it out!" said Bubs. "Coach is on the TV!"

"Coach?" said the King. "I love that guy from the computer-type movie!"

"Coach Z, what are you doing?" asked Marzipan, annoyed. "I thought you were going to ask the guy if we could use the remote."

"Yeah, you just kinda screamed like a frog on Tuesday," said Bubs, "and broke through that glowy box."

"Like a who on what?" said the King with a frown.

"Oh, geese...I guess I didn't ask him about the remote," said Coach Z. "Well, I guess we don't have to worry about it anymore."

"Why not?" said the King.

"The TV's destroyed, King," said Marzipan.

"Oh, right," said the King quickly.

An agent came running up and said, "I heard a crash. Everything okay here?"

The four of them looked at each other.

"No, of course it's not okay," said Marzipan snappily. "Our town doesn't exist, we were all forced to stay at this stupid hotel, except for my boyfriend who you still haven't found, all our stuff is back in our homes, we can't do anything without one of you guys supervising, the Strongs' house has burned down, the King doesn't know how he got into power, we don't know if we can use the remote, and...and Coach Z here has just destroyed this TV!"

The agent paused for a second.

"Okay, well, as long as everything's okay here," he said in the type of voice people use when they say 'nothing to see here.' He slowly turned around, walked over to the desk, and paid the $900 for the TV. Then he went out the door to the left and disappeared into the labyrinth of the hotel.

"Wow...wow, Marzipan," said Coach Z. "You torld him good!"

"Yeah, you showed him who's the man!" said Bubs. Marzipan glanced at him sharply. "Er...lady."

Marzipan stopped frowning. The King of Town noticed she still looked uneasy.

"Y'okay there, Marzy?" asked the King.

"Did you not hear a single word I just said?"

"I'm not listening! La-lala-lala-lala-la..."

"Did you not hear a single word I just said..._sire_."

"That's more like it! Ahem...oh, right, all that stuff. Sorry."

"Hey, ya know Marzipan," said Coach Z, "with Homestar gone and all, well...I was just kinda wonderin' if you'd ever consider getting a new—"

"Coach Z, come on," said Marzipan sharply. "In front of Bubs and the King? Can we at least _pretend_ that more than three of us are adults here?"

"Sor—"

"Sorry!" shouted the King, before Coach Z could. The King grinned and said, "Ha! Beat you to it again!"

"Will I _never_ say it first?" said Coach Z with a frown.

An agent, probably the same one, came running in and said, "Uh, you in the purple. We think we've found that guy you say didn't make it to the hotel."

"He never _left_ for the hotel."

"Oh, right. So...you said his skin was chalk-white, he was wearing a crimson shirt with a star on it and a blue and white propeller cap, and he had no arms, ears and nose?"

"Yes."

"Well, we—wait, you with the crown, you're not him, are you?"

"I already told you! This is a cardboard crown I won in a fast food—wait, what was your question again?"

"Never mind. Okay, we found a guy with no arms."

"Really? Where is he? Who is he? Is he Homestar?"

"Well, he's in a circus, currently set up in Akron, Ohio. He's a knife juggler."

"Oh...and he has no arms?"

"Nope. No arms."

"Have you ever stopped to think whether that may be coincidental?"

"The thought never crossed my mind, no. Why, could it be?"

"You guys are so useless," muttered Marzipan. She stood up and pushed past him, walking around the corner and down the hall.

"I agree, I'm right behind ya. Wait for me, or I won't find ya," said Coach Z. "Hey, I can rhyme!"

"She got you, federal boy," said Bubs, and him and the King left as well.

The agent looked around at the empty tables and chairs. He glanced back at the TV (still destroyed), and then he saw the remote control lying on the table closest to him. He turned around and walked over to the front desk.

"Hey, are you allowed to use that remote, or, is it just for workers or something?" he asked.

"No, you can use it," said the guy behind the desk, Cory. "You'd be surprised how many people ask that."

"I'm sure I would," murmured the agent, and he walked out into the hallways. A few seconds later, Cory got a room service call, asking for a bucket of ice. He hung up the phone, stepped around the desk, and went off out the door on the left and towards the elevators at the end of the hall.

The lobby was now very quiet.

* * *

"Is it _vayze_ or _vahze_?" asked Strong Bad, examining a flowers-filled vase on the table next to his bed. 

"I JUST CALL IT A PLANT CUP!" bawled Strong Mad.

"These roommate pair-ups should _not_ be alphabetical."

"AT LEAST THEY'RE NOT DOING IT BY CLOTHING COLOUR!"

"Yeah, you're right. Then I'd be stuck with old Kingo Starr. I mean—Townn. Now _that_ gives me tha jibb-ah-lees!"

The two of them were not alone in wishing it was optional who your roommate was, but some of the Free Countrians were actually enjoying it. Like Bubs.

"Hey, The Cheat!" said Bubs to his roommate. "I betcha ten bucks you won't give me twenty dollars."

"Mih me-zeh!" said The Cheat, which meant _You're on!_ in The Cheat.

The Cheat rummaged around in a wallet with a nametag saying _Regaldo_ on it.

"Meh seh-meh zeh-meh?" asked The Cheat, which meant _Two tens okay?_ in The Cheat.

"Alwaystime, Grilled Cheat Sandwich!" said Bubs happily.

The Cheat gave Bubs two tens, or twenty, thereby winning the bet.

"Yeh-teh!" said The Cheat, which meant _I did it_ in more languages than one.

Bubs, without protest, gave The Cheat one of the tens. He held up his remaining bill and said, "Thanks for the ten bucks, The Cheat!"

He then ran out of the room and disappeared down the hall.

"Meh-reh!" said The Cheat, happy to have won the bet. "Meh she meh-reh—reh...meh."

In The Cheat, this meant _All right! That loser had no idea what was com—hang on_..._crap_.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the lobby, Coach Z was shouting, "Hey, can somebody get me outta this TV? I'm stuck!" 


	4. Good or Bad

Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay, long story...anyway, glad you guys like it! Keep reviewing. Got that? Never stop. Milk. I mean—reviewing.

* * *

Kurt woke up that morning like he always did—in the back seat of a '72 El Camino that had been abandoned on the curb of Avenue B for about ten months. He had a headache, and was surprised to see he hadn't thrown up while he was asleep. This meant that he had drank a bottle of schnapps last night. This happened a lot. He couldn't remember how he got it. This also happened a lot. He could never remember how he got the bottle on the night he had it since he was drunk, and he could never remember how he got the bottle on the morning after since he had been drunk. 

He was, in fact, quite surprised when he looked out the dust-covered window of the car to see someone was lying on the sidewalk, asleep, hunched back against the wall of some old abandoned lot. As his eyes began to focus in the morning light, he could just start to make out the person.

Chalk-white skin. This reminded him of something. A word he had heard the night before. A name. Definitely a name. What was it?

The sky. Like something in the sky. Like a...in the sky. What's in the sky? It was something that had been out that night before. The moon? No, not the moon. The stars? Maybe. Stars...star...yes, that's it. Star. And then...what next? No, it was something before that. Something right in his mind, right in his access, but he couldn't find it. Something right there with him. Something close to—

Home.

Star.

Homestar.

That was it.

The person next to him was named Homestar. But what was so strange about him? Something Kurt remembered from yesterday. But he had been drinking, he couldn't see straight. Now he could, out in the light.

Chalk-white skin. No arms. No pants. Blue-soled shoes. No ears. No nose. No eyelids or lashes. No hair. Huge underbite. Red shirt. Blue and red hat.

Kurt had to get out of the car and stare at the strange thing lying on the sidewalk in front of him.

The thing woke up with a mumble of, "Huh? Whu? Oh, good morningnoon, Kurt!"

"AAAAAAH!" shouted Kurt.

"AAAAAAH!" shouted the thing. "What're we shouting about?"

"YOU!" howled Kurt.

"What about me?"

"You're horrific!"

"Thanks! You're not lookin' too shabby yourself!"

"Who are you?"

"We went over this, remember? Homestar."

Stars in the sky, close to home. He remembered.

"I think so...why do you look so weird?"

Homestar laughed. "What do you mean? Why do _you_ look so weird?"

"Where are your ears?"

"What do I need ears for? I can hear just fine."

"Why don't you have a nose?"

"Hey, man, I live downwind of an eight-foot-tall pile of crap! I don't want a very good sense of smell."

"And your arms?"

"Well, things pretty much move themselves around me as if I'm holding them, so, no probs there man."

"What's with your eyes? They're like backwards sixes."

"Well, all my other senses like touch and smell and sound are kind of dulled down, so—my sight is like my sixth sense...so of course they're sixes."

"Look, I hate to say this, but you're really annoying me. You can't just rationalize these horrible...I don't even know if I can call them deformities...by a mere lack of need…you're talking about rewriting the theories of evolution."

"Hey! No religious or scientific opinion! This is a public website."

"Oh, right...sorry...but still, you know the only reason I'm not trying to hit you in the face several times with a large stick is because I don't have one?"

"Oh, I've heard that one before!"

"Look, I'll just ignore these logical impossibilities and ask, why don't you have any pants?"

"Well, usually, I have pants...really long ones...hmm, weird. I must've lost them in the...um...uh..."

"River," murmured Kurt quietly, to himself.

The river. Everything came flooding back.

"I remember you now," said Kurt. "Homestar. Yeah...yeah, I remember."

"You told me you'd show me around!"

"Well, not much to see. It's not usually the sights people come here for. It's the apartments."

"Really? Are they low-rent lofts?"

"Uh, well..."

"Garrets?"

"Sure. Yeah."

"Studio apts?" he said, pronouncing it ever so phonetically.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Couldn't they put anything here except for apartments?"

"Yeah, of course, and they did even. This whole area used to be a bunch of music publishing factories and warehouses. After disco went out of style, they all shut down and were turned into cheap low-grade apartments so all the broke landlords could still make some money. Now, this whole area is owned by this charity organization, but other street people usually just rob the members or beat them up whenever they come around here, 'cause they say they don't need charity."

"Do you rob them?"

"No way. I want food."

"Well, then I do too! Tell me about yourself."

"I was born somewhere out east, probably during the 60s. I'm pretty sure I joined the army in the 70s, but all that left me with was vague recollections of what looks like a psycologist telling me to forget everything."

"What kind of an answer is that?"

"I dunno, it's just what I remember."

"I'll tell you about me."

"What?"

"About myself. I'll tell you about."

"Okay."

"Me."

"Right."

"Umm...wait, we talked about this yesterday, I can't really remember about myself. I can remember my name...Homestar Runner.Wait, hand on, I think I got something...a r...rr..."

"River?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?"

"Well, you came here in the aqueduct. And that comes from the Eaton, so maybe that's how you got here?"

"Maybe. Anyway, I'm hungry. How do you get food around here?"

"With great difficulty. Whoa, hold up...visitors."

"You mean...aliens? Greys? LITTLE MEAN MEN? THEY'RE BACK!"

"No, no! Calm down! Quiet! I meant tourists. We just call them visitors 'cause this is _our_ neighborhood."

"I thought you said you didn't have—?"

"Figuratively."

"There we go!"

"Watch the tourists. I think Zuke might come get them."

"Who?"

"Watch!"

Homestar turned and looked across the street.

There were two tourists standing on the sidewalk, looking out over the vast expanse of water a block away.

One of them wore a blue and green striped t-shirt and a blue windbreaker, and had a camera bag draped over his arm. His sunglasses rested on his nose like two huge, flat eight-balls on a hammock. The other one kept trying to tell the first one that she had a bad feeling about the area, as she tried to get his attention, pawing at his shoulder like a cat with an arm covered by a fake gold watch with the word _Folex_ on the side.

They inhaled deeply with fright when two urchins approached them.

"You folks lost? Go around, get the car."

One of them jogged around a corner, presumably to get their car.

"Er..." said the first tourist.

"Actually, yes we are," said the second.

"I'm not surprised, this is a confusing district. I could escort you out?"

"We really fine, sir, and we can't be bothered spending money on a—"

"Hey, you got me all wrong...I'm not here to get money," said the street rat. "Actually, I'm here to take it."

"Um...pardon?"

The mugger slung his arm around the tourist's shoulder.

"Look over there!" he shouted, as he ripped the camera bag from the tourist's shoulder. "And I suppose this is a fake? Well, the black market doesn't care."

He held up a fake gold watch.

"My watch!" said the second tourist, raising an arm that had been recently rendered bare in protest.

"Give me that back!" said the first one, snatching for the camera bag. He missed. With the tourist's arm outstretched, the thief reached over and snatched his wallet from the tourist's jacket pocket.

"Aaah! Thief!" shrieked the tourist.

"Stop him, Greg!"

"But I'm already gone!" said the urchin. He jumped into the trunk of a passing pickup truck driven by the second urchin. He then quickly added, "BythewayIstolethiscar!"

"My wallet!" exclaimed the first tourist, as the truck drove off.

"My watch!" said the second.

"My camera bag!"

"Your camera bag!"

"That was a really nice camera! It had zoom...cropping...flash...film...color controls...contrast...saturation...sound recording...uh...text messaging...working phone probably..."

"Did it take pictures?"

"I dunno. The need to never arose."

"Uh...yeahthatsucks...anyway, should we get the police?"

"No. Let's go back to Michigippi and complain about big cities to our grandchildren."

"We have those?"

"We have what?"

* * *

Meanwhilst, Homestar Runner and Kurt were across the street. Even though the two of them did, the tourists didn't know that they were being watched keenly and closely by intelligences not really greater than theirs yet as mortal as their own. 

"What the friggin'...friggin' friggin'?" shouted Homestar. "They robbed those people!"

"Yeah...it's kinda funny, actually."

"How is that funny? Criminal activities is no laughing matter! Or so that filmstrip would have you believe."

"Hey, have you ever heard the phrase _property is theft_?"

"Well, have _you_ ever heard the phrase _remember the Amalone_?"

"Yes, many times. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, it applies to this situation as much as that property comment does!"

"No, it doesn't."

"Oh, right. Forgot."

"Look, I know it's not really the right thing to do, but these people need money and _food_, and these visitors don't even belong here!"

"Well..."

"Of course every knows—how could I forget?—the ends justify the means."

"Sorta..."

"And you don't want these people to starve, do you?"

"I guess not..."

"Well, then, you can see why theft is a good thing?"

"Er...uh...you know what? You've convinced me! Stealing _is_ a good thing, if it's done right!"

"That's the spirit! Not that I encourage stealing."

"No, of course not."

"I'm just saying it has some good connotations."

"Well, yeah! Of course! And some stealing has more pros than cons, come to think of it...like all those kids who steal characters from that magical book series for their internet stories!"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you wouldn't be referring to fan fiction? That lame, uncreative, boring, pathetic, copyright-breaching cyber-crap pile of what a bunch of manga-hungry thirteen-year-old girls think in their sick, twisted, hormone-infested minds, is something even remotely resembling entertainment? Geese, how much do I hear about that stuff? And I'm freakin' homeless, for someone's—_anyone_'s—sake. I dunno, I think all those kind of writers are big losers."

"Hm...yeah, you're probably right."


End file.
